


Self Love, With Clipboard

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm on crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self Love, With Clipboard

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my sister, who gave me the alcohol necessary to write this.

 

_Nobody touches Spike's clipboard... except Spike._

"Oh, bloody 'ell," Spike said, because the author couldn't think of something better for him to say - which was quite inconsequential at this point, being that it made the reader lose focus from what had caused the bleached-blond demigod of a vampire to exclaim such an... er... exclamation.

Spike said it again, this time bringing the object of his attention into view. He stroked it softly, admiring its cool smoothness. His fingertips grazed across the top, and he brought it to his mouth. "I love you, 4-EVA-11," he whispered reverently.

Just then Angel walked in. "Spike?" he asked, cocking his head. "Why are you making out with a clipboard?"

Spike broke the kiss, wiping the clipboard free of his saliva with his sleeve. "What's it to you, ponce?" he asked. He cuddled the clipboard close to his chest. "We're in love," he said matter-of-factly, "and when this whole End Of The World nonsense is over with, we're gonna run away together. Isn't that right, precious?" He nuzzled it, falling into a daydream.

_"It's beautiful here," said the giant-sized clipboard, reaching for Spike's hand as they frolicked through a grassy meadow on a warm, moonlit night. "I love you, Spike!"_

_Spike grasped 4-EVA-11's other hand and they spun in a circle, laughing. "I love you, too!" he exclaimed._

"Um, Spike. It's an inanimate object," Angel said. Then he furrowed his brow. "You're not going to turn into Crazy Basement Spike, again, are you?"

"One," Spike said, his thumb popping up. "There is no basement. Two," a second finger joined the first, "I'm not crazy. Mostly. And three," the two fingers lowered and his middle finger raised. He smiled.

"Wouldn't that just be one again?" Angel asked. The furrow in his brow got deeper until he was almost into Brood Face (TM), but not quite, because Brood Face (TM) will not be making an appearance in this story.

Spike held the clipboard up to his ear. "4-EVA-11 says you're stupid."

Angel scratched his head, the furrow lessening. He was now in Deep Thought. "What's a forever one one?"

A look of shock settled on Spike's countenance. He stomped over to Angel and beat him in the head with the clipboard. Then he petted the office supply object lovingly. "Did he hurt you, pet?" he asked it.

After a minute, he glanced over at Angel. "You've got a strand out of place."

Angel's hands flew to his head and preeningly poked his perfectly product-treated plumage. Angel was happy to discover that Spike had been lying about his hair being anything less than spectacular. "I hate you," he said.

"And I hate you," Spike said in a high-pitched, little voice, hiding behind the clipboard. "Ponce."

"Hear that?" Spike asked in his normal tone, having come out from behind his dearest love. "4-EVA-11 hates you."

He ducked behind the clipboard again. "I touch Spike in ways you could never imagine," he said in the same tiny voice.

Angel blinked a few times. His eye twitched. He thought maybe he was grinding his teeth a little. "I came to ask if maybe you wanted to kill stuff," he blurted.

"I've got a better idea," Spike announced. "It's called, Who's Got More Smarts: Angel Or The Clipboard?"

For no apparent reason, Angel found himself on a game show set, sitting in a surprisingly comfortable chair next to 4-EVA-11. "What the hell?" he asked, looking at the clipboard as if it might answer him.

"Welcome to the show, contestants, and here's your first question," Spike said. "Why am I so bloody fabulous?"

Annoying tick-tock music filled the room. Angel looked around. Holy crap, there was a live audience.

"Time's up. Contestant 1, being you, Poof, what's your answer?" Spike leaned back in his chair.

"Um..."

"I'm sorry, that's incorrect. Contestant 2?" Spike dashed out of his seat and over to the clipboard, lifting it in front of his face and saying in his 4-EVA-11 voice, "There's no way to properly describe the reasons. You just are, that's all." Then he set the clipboard back down, reclaimed his chair, and said, "That is correct! One hundred points for Contestant 2!"

There was a light smattering of applause from the audience.

"Question the second," Spike said. He took a sip of blood from a glass that hadn't been there a second ago, but this story is very low on consistent plot, so it doesn't really matter. " _Why_ am I so bloody _fabulous_?"

Again with the annoying tick-tock music.

"Contestant 1, I need an answer."

Angel paused. "Isn't that the same - "

"Wrong! Contestant 2, my love, what is your response?" Spike hopped up, picked up the clipboard, and sighed, "Because you're Spike, and you're the biggest, baddest, best vampire ever." Then he sat back down. "That's correct. Five hundred points for Contestant 2."

"Here's your third question." Dramatic music filled the room, then cut off abruptly. Spike's expression turned serious. "When you got your soul in Romania, why did you leave us?" he asked, his lip quivering slightly. This question was mandatory, seeing as though this was a completely contrived gameshow, and absolutely needed the obligatory angsty clichéd fic question to make it complete.

"Us?" Angel asked. He glanced between Spike and 4-EVA-11. "You mean you and the clipboard, or you and the girls?"

The audience booed and hissed. Angel flinched a little.

"Please give a serious answer, Contestant 1," Spike chided. "You have ten seconds."

"Because... I... uh... well, I... um..."

"Time's up. Contestant 2?"

"Because he was scared and didn't think you'd let him come back and blah blah blah," Spike said in his clipboard voice, though the clipboard remained next to Angel. "Five hundred more for Contestant 2," he said. "Time for the bonus round. Contestant 1, who's the better vampire with a soul?"

"I - "

"Wrong again. Normally I'd avoid horrible puns like this, but you absolutely _suck_ at this, mate."

The audience groaned.

"Contestant 2?" Spike asked.

"Please, we both know how it - I mean you - are going to respond. The answer is obviously 'You are,' because this game, I'm sure, is called 'Feed! Spike's! Ego!' So why don't you just get it over with and declare the clipboard the winner, and then go hump it or whatever you were planning to do with it if I hadn't come into the room in the first place?!" Angel raged uncharacteristically.

The game show set vanished.

Angel picked up the clipboard and threw it onto the ground, then stomped on it a couple of times. Then he nodded, satisfied, and left the room.

Spike bit out a laugh. He wondered how long it'd take for him to run up eleven flights of stairs to Angel's apartment, and if he'd beat the older man there.


End file.
